


my anaconda (does)

by mydickisthealpha (godsensei)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, Sharing Body Heat, Snakes Are There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsensei/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Put your hands down my pants,” Stiles breathes, and Derek snaps his attention to Stiles’ face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my anaconda (does)

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the first part of this on tumblr a very, very, very long time ago as a small (400 word) drabble request fill... thing. Decided to finish it after finding it in my drafts, lol. When I was writing this it was probably set sometime after S2 (the last season that mattered to me).

“Nope, no, stop,” Stiles says, freezing in place, splaying his fingers out in the air. Derek huffs a frustrated sigh through his nostrils, but turns. 

 

Stiles has been walking behind him, footsteps heavy and noisy,crunching the leaves. He’s been muttering, too, and grinding on Derek’s every last nerve. They’ve been in these woods for hours and, even with Derek’s sense of smell, they can’t find their way out. 

 

“Put your hands down my pants,” Stiles breathes, and Derek snaps his attention to Stiles’ face. 

 

“What.”

 

“Please put your hands down my pants, oh my _God_.” Even as he says it, his face is scrunching up, and he’s frozen, but looks like he wants to tip himself over. 

 

“I’m not putting my hands in your pants—”

 

“Derek, I’m pretty sure there is a snake in my pants. If you don’t put your immune-to-poison werewolf hands down my pants, I will take them off— it is now in my boxers. That is— not ok.” His voice pitches upwards and he tries to straighten himself out. 

 

Derek is at a loss. 

 

“I was going to _cut your arm off_ for you—”

 

“Ok, calm down. Don’t move,” he says as he grinds his teeth, but steps forward.

 

“I’m not going to move. There’s a mini Jackson in my pants right now, and there may have been a dream at some point a long time ago, but this is not something that I want to be happening.”

 

“Information I do not need to know,” Derek mutters, stepping up close to Stiles. They’re sharing breathing space as Derek puts the edges of his fingers under the waistband of Stiles’ pants and boxers. Stiles sucks in a breath, trying to stay completely still. 

 

“If this leaves this forest, Stiles—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll rip my throat out with your teeth or something equally terrify- _hiiying_ ,” he gasps as Derek pushes his hand down. 

 

His face falls forward, catches on Derek’s shoulder and Derek can tell he’s trying to reign in his breathing. He grits his own teeth harder as he moves his hand around, brushing against parts he pretends are thighs, everything is thighs, that’s the only thing that is in these pants. Thighs, thighs, penis. 

 

Stiles squeaks, and jerks back, but Derek grasps his arm, pulling him back. He hasn’t found the right snake yet. 

 

He moves his hand from the front to the back, and gropes around. 

 

“I feel it.”

 

“My ass?”

 

“Yes— _no_ , the snake. I’ve got it. Hold still, it keeps slipping,” Derek grunts, and then he yanks back, throwing the snake a few feet away. Stiles squeals a little, flailing backwards, holding onto the side of Derek’s jacket to keep himself steady. 

 

They watch a little green snake slither away. 

 

“Oh, dude, that’s not even poisonous. It’s just a Garter snake. Whew.” Stiles grins, looking awkwardly relieved. Derek shoots a glare at him, wrenching his jacket away from Stiles’ hand before he bites it off. 

 

“Of course.”

 

“So, uh… any closer to the exit?” Stiles asks after a few awkward moments of silence, because obviously he can’t be quiet for more than five seconds. “It’s getting dark, my Dad will murder me, and Scott will get, you know, worried. As he does.”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek grumbles, not thinking about the way Stiles’ breath felt against the juncture of his neck, and definitely not thinking about… the snake. “We’re so far into the forest that all I can smell is… forest.”

 

“That is just great,” Stiles sighs, pulling his phone out. “And we still have no service, AND, to make this day even better than it’s been, my battery is running out.”

 

“Well at least you don’t have a scary snake in your pants,” Derek says, sarcasm laced in his words. 

 

“That could’ve been a really dangerous situation,” Stiles defends, his voice lilting as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. 

 

“It  _ was _ a dangerous situation,” Derek grumbles.

 

“What was that?”

 

Derek doesn’t answer, opting to roll his eyes instead. Stiles is right, though. The sun is going down, they’re in unfamiliar territory, there’s no cell phone service, and it’s starting to get really cold. If they don’t find their way out they’ll have to sleep in the woods. Derek’s done it before, but it’s not pleasant and he’s not sure how Stiles will handle it. If today has been any indication, very poorly would be the answer. 

 

“Uh, thanks, by the way,” Stiles starts, “for the whole, you know… putting your hands down my pants thing.”

 

“Don’t mention it. Ever.”

 

“Hey, it was just as embarrassing for me as it was for you! I would obviously do it for you. I mean, not obviously— not like, you know, I mean, if you needed me to do that, which you wouldn’t, because werewolf, duh, but hypothetically? I—”

 

“So you really just want to put your hands down my pants?”

 

“Yes— no, oh my g— _no_.”

 

“Didn’t sound really certain there, Stiles.” Derek lifts an eyebrow and looks back at Stiles, whose obscene mouth is open in disbelief. Derek turns back around with a smirk on his face, and listens to Stiles mumble to himself.

 

They stay silent for a long while, the quiet of deep forest overtaking them. There aren’t even any birds chirping, and nothing in sight but lines of trees. It’s easy to focus on the nearest thing, like the beat of Stiles’ heart and the swish of his feet in the leaves. He’s starting to stumble a lot in the dark, though, and Derek knows they’ll have to stop soon. 

 

It’s Stiles starting to tremble that makes him choose a clearing. He doesn’t want to risk starting a fire and attracting unwanted attention.

 

“We’ll have to sleep close to one another.”

 

“Well that’s c-cliche.”

 

“It works. My body runs hotter than yours, I can handle it. You can’t.”

 

“This entire day has been a trashy romance novel,” Stiles mutters, pushing leaves together to make a soft pile to sleep on. He’s shivering the entire time, teeth clacking. He sniffles every so often, the cold making it run. He hefts himself down with a soft ‘oof’, wiggling his body around in the leaves until he’s comfortable. It’s absolutely obnoxious, and Derek continues to stare at him long after he’s stopped moving. 

 

“What?” Stiles asks, blinking at him innocently. Is he entirely unaware of himself or is he just pushing Derek’s buttons? Derek is still not sure at this point. “You gonna get in on this action or not?”

 

“If you phrase it like that again, I’m going to continue walking through this forest and leave you here to rot. Maybe the universe will have mercy on me and something will actually eat you.” Derek settles down beside him anyway, manhandling him (much to Stiles’ dismay) so that he’s on his side. Derek shuffles in closer, melding his body to Stiles’ and pointedly ignoring how easily he fits there. 

 

Stiles is still shivering, even as his body tenses at their proximity. Derek resists smirking as he places a hand on Stiles’ chest, splaying his fingers over his heart to catch the rhythm. It’s beating quickly-- dancing, really-- and Stiles swallows audibly. 

 

“I’m not gonna bite you,” Derek says in his ear and delights in the way Stiles yelps, jolting minutely in his arms. 

 

“J-just be quiet,” he says in reply, and Derek buries his head against Stiles’ shoulder and shakes with laughter despite himself. Stiles goes oddly quiet and then makes an angry noise. Derek can feel the reverberation rise up his chest, like he’s growling. 

 

“Are you doing this on purpose?!” Stiles looks back over his shoulder in disbelief, and Derek keeps his face hidden, laughing noisily. “D- _ dude! _ ”

 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop,” Derek concedes, straightening out his face. Stiles is still tense in front of him, heartbeat clattering clumsily, but at least he isn’t shivering anymore. 

 

Quiet descends easily into the small space they’ve made themselves, the only noises completely natural. Crickets have started chirping nearby, owls hooting in what seems like a reply, and leaves shuffle beneath them. Stiles finally relaxes, leaning some of his weight on Derek. 

 

This reminds him of old times with his siblings. Camping out in the reserve had been really fun, full of laughter and teasing. It’s almost easy to let those memories take over, because they’re easier to confront than the memories of  _ after _ , where every cracking sound of tree limb was a death call and every howling animal was reminiscent of… Well, too much. 

 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, breaking the silence and the dark path his mind is taking. Derek sighs through his nostrils. 

 

“Yes,” he says, and Stiles seems to ponder on it for a moment, like he isn’t sure if he should speak again. 

 

“Uh, I mean, this probably reminds you of before,” Stiles says, and Derek feels an eyebrow raise. It’s not fair of him to be surprised, though. Stiles is often more observant than he lets on, his mind quick and his eyes sharp. Peter had liked him, had wanted to _bite_ him, and that’s more than enough to let Derek know that Stiles is probably very smart. 

 

He thinks about what Stiles said, though. It does remind him of before, of both times, but he doesn’t usually like talking about that with anyone. What would be the point of telling Stiles now, here in the dark of the forest? 

 

“It does, but probably not in the way you think,” he says eventually. Stiles nods in front of him, unnaturally pensive. 

 

“We used to go camping,” Derek starts, “when I was younger. It was just in the preserve and my mom always called it an exercise of teamwork, but, when I think about it now, I realize it was just a way to let us have fun.” He thinks of his mother, strong and beautiful. She was always, always supportive of him, of all of her children. She wanted them to be prepared, but she wanted them to be  _ children _ , too, unafraid of being who they were. He still can’t think about the way she died, if she’d immediately figured it out, if she was disappointed, furious, or, worse, forgiving. 

 

Stiles clears his throat. “My, uh, my mom used to take us camping, too. Dad was usually busy, and it was-- it was just in our backyard,” Stiles laughs, “but she made it seem like we were far away. Told me ghost stories and then comforted me when they scared me too much. She was… She was a really good mom.”

 

Derek furrows his brows, unused to having Stiles be so open around him. He thinks Stiles is trying to comfort him in some way, trying to distract him or share his pain. Stiles never lost eight people all at once, but his family has always been small and his mom was probably his entire world. 

 

“Your mom was really nice, too,” Stiles says, smile in his voice. “She used to stop by the police station sometimes-- when I was there, after mom died. She’d called me ‘Officer Stilinski’, like I was part of the force. It was one of the only things that made me happy then, when everything seemed so… harsh.”

 

Derek tightens his hold without thinking, and Stiles brings his own hand to press on top of Derek’s. 

 

“I think… I think she’d be really proud of you, considering,” Stiles whispers, and Derek buries his face back into Stiles’ shoulder, shuddering. He wants to believe that’s true. She’d always been supportive of him, even after his eyes turned blue. 

 

“Why are you saying this?” Derek asks, sounding miserable to his own ears. 

 

“I don’t actually hate you, surprising as it is. I mean, I think you’re a pain in the ass, but you probably think  _ I’m _ a pain in the ass-- which is true-- but we’ve been working together for how long now? How many times have we saved each other’s lives? You just stuck your hands down my pants to save my life!”

 

“I thought we weren’t gonna mention that. Ever,” Derek says against Stiles’ hoodie. Stiles huffs. 

 

“Just admit that you like being around me and then I can admit that I think you’re alright,” he says, and now it’s Derek’s turn to scoff. 

 

“I admit that you  _ are _ a pain in the ass,” he gibes, but sighs as he lifts his head. “You’re not so bad when you stop talking incessantly.”

 

“Eh, I can work with that. You’re not so bad when you’ve got your murder brows put away.”

 

“I don’t have murder brows. They’re normal eyebrows.”

 

“...That want to murder people. It’s fine. We’ve all accepted them by now.”

 

“You act as if they’re sentient.”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they cocooned themselves right now and then flew away in a week.”

 

“You’re impossible,” Derek says, snorting. Laura used to call his eyebrows caterpillars, too. “We should sleep.”

 

“Yeah…” Stiles trails off with a yawn. “You were right though. You’re very warm.”

 

He waits until Stiles is almost completely asleep before saying, “You have a surprisingly soft ass.”

 

The flailing hand that hits him square in the face is worth it.

  
  



End file.
